


Let it Snow

by Goldy



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Christmas fic, F/M, Post Season 4, Reunion Fic, Romance, Winter Tropes, omg there is a blizzard, omg they were snowed in
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:20:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28365312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goldy/pseuds/Goldy
Summary: Betty is trying to get home for the holidays. Unfortunately, mother nature has other plans in store for her. Set post-season 4 after Betty and Jughead have gone their separate ways, but a season 4 that ignores the existence of 4x17 and 4x18 because, well, it’s fanfiction and I do what I want.“You came all the way out here to take me home?” she finds herself whispering as something warm and light curls in her stomach.
Relationships: Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones
Comments: 38
Kudos: 94
Collections: 8th Bughead Fanfiction Awards - Nominees, Bughead Secret Santa





	Let it Snow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stonerbughead](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stonerbughead/gifts).



> Written for THE stonerbughead for Bughead Secret Santa. Based on the prompt: “ _after the hard year we’ve all had, I would love some tropey winter bughead, something relatively light (angst with a happy ending could qualify as long as there’s more of an emphasis on the happy than the angst!)._ ” This probably falls more into the “angst with a happy ending” than pure fluff. But there is a LOT of winter tropes. I hope you like it, dearest! Happy holidays!

Betty paces through her dorm room while a male voice in the hallway sings “ _jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way_ ” in a slurred, off-key tone. On the TV, the weatherman drones on about the once-in-a-lifetime snowstorm currently raging outside Betty’s window:

“ _This unprecedented weather event is expected to bring in at least four feet of snow over the next 24 hours. Visibility is poor out there, folks. We know many of you are trying to get home to your families, but the Governor is urging caution…”_

Betty speaks into her headset: “Mom, all buses have been cancelled for the next two days, and who knows how quickly they’ll be able to reschedule them once this storm is over.”

Alice emits an aggrieved noise that makes Betty wince and pull her headphones away from her ears. “Betty, honey, this is your first Christmas since leaving for university. You can’t seriously be talking about spending it alone in your dorm room.”

As she finishes, there is a persistent knock at Betty’s dorm room followed by another off-key rendition of “ _jingle bells.”_

“Mom, hang on a second.”

She opens her door and finds a group of frat boys on the other side decked out in Santa hats. They are holding bells and chimes in their hands which they shake with enthusiasm in Betty’s face.

The tallest of them is standing in the middle. His cheeks are red and his breath smells like a distillery: “Happy Christmas Eve,” he bellows. “Snowed in Christmas bash on the sixth floor! All are welcome. BYOB!”

The frat boy winks at her and she slowly shakes her head before closing the door. The frat boys do not seem put off by her rejection as she hears them continue down the hall, singing loudly and jingling their hand bells.

Into the phone, she says, “See mom, I won’t be alone. I can spend my evening with the finest young men that Yale has to offer.”

Alice sniffs in disapproval. “Oh, Betty, don’t even joke about such things. Don’t you want to see your family?” She pauses and in a more plaintive tone, adds, “And if not your family, what about your friends? Veronica? Archie?”

“Mom, of course I want to see you and everyone else. I’ll get there as soon as I can, okay? But I can’t go out in this.”

“You could rent a car!” Alice persists. “Drive slowly—”

“Car rentals are sold out across the state,” says Betty. She glances out the window. The snow is so thick that she can barely see the campus grounds below. “Besides,” she continues, “it wouldn’t be safe. You heard the Governor. He’s urging everyone to stay put until the storm is over.”

Her mother blows out a breath. “First you couldn’t make it home for Thanksgiving—”

“Mom, I already told you, I had a _deadline_ —”

“Now you won’t come home for _Christmas_. Is this what it is going to be like now, Betty? You’re going to take any excuse to get out of seeing your family?”

“Mom,” Betty tries again through gritted teeth. “You know I want nothing more than to see you for Christmas. Believe me, I did not conjure up a blizzard to get out of visiting you.”

Alice is silent on the other end. Then, finally, as if whipping out a trump card, she says, “Jughead is on his way home.”

Betty’s hands tighten into fists. “What?” she says faintly.

“Jughead,” Alice continues, her voice smug. “If you won’t come home for your family or your friends, I know you’ll want to come home to see that boy.”

Betty forces her hands open and drops them to her sides. “Mom, I told you, I’ll be there as soon as I can, okay? Goodbye.”

She hangs up and then tears off her headset, throwing it on the bed next to her opened suitcase. The suitcase is half-packed with socks, pajamas, and her toiletries. She is not sure whether to keep packing or start unpacking.

_Jughead is on his way home._

The thought makes her dizzy and she sits heavily on her bed next to her half-packed suitcase. She has not spoken or seen Jughead in months, not since the end of summer when they parted for university. They agreed that the drive between Yale and Iowa was prohibitively far, that the flights were impracticable.

They did not break up, not exactly. All summer they tried to rationalize the distance. They were meant to be together. So what if they were separated? There would be Thanksgivings and Christmases and holiday breaks—they could meet in the middle, couldn’t they? Halfway between Yale and Iowa? But as summer nights turned longer and the days became colder, the inevitability of their separation became impossible to ignore. 

Jughead was the one who suggested they try and give each other space.

“ _I love you, Betty_ ,” he said. “ _I will always love you. But I don’t want to be the one holding you back. Or keeping you from anything… any experience you could have.”_

So they agreed. They would not force their relationship over the distance. If they were truly meant to be, they would find their way back to each other. If not… well, they wouldn’t be hindered in their new university lives by their high school relationship.

She drifts back to the window and folds her arms over her chest. Her view is obscured behind a heavy curtain of white, swirling snow. She rubs at her arms, an ache building inside of her. If Jughead is heading home for the holidays, that has to mean something, does it not? Perhaps he had enough space—perhaps he is ready to try again, whatever that might look like these days.

She hears the hand bells from the frat boys chime outside her door again followed by a knock. Without moving from the window, she turns her head and yells, “Sorry, not interested in the Christmas bash on the sixth floor!”

The knock comes again, more persistently, and Betty sighs. She crosses the room to open the door and then freezes, her heart lurching in her chest.

“Jughead?” she whispers.

He is wearing a red plaid jacket and his beanie, each of which is covered in a fine dusting of snow. “Hey,” he says softly. He fidgets awkwardly in the doorway. “I heard about the storm. I thought you might need a lift.”

It takes her a moment to register his words. The mere sight of him knocks the breath out of her. Their parting was only a few months ago, but it feels like longer. She drinks in his face, his cheekbones, the slightly sardonic smile on his face, and the wisps of dark hair escaping from under his beanie.

“You came all the way out here to take me home?” she finds herself whispering as something warm and light curls in her stomach.

He shrugs, trying to look casual, but his eyes are deep and intense as they bore into hers. She has the sense that he is drinking her in much the same way that she is taking him in.

“My dad told me that you were snowed in.” He leans against the doorjamb and shoves his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “I rented a car with all-wheel drive and snow tires. We should be okay as long as we drive slowly.”

The warmth in her stomach spreads. She nods and then steps back to let him into her dorm room. Her room is barely large enough for her twin bed, bookshelf, and desk. It has never felt cramped before. But suddenly, with Jughead inside of it, she feels like there is nowhere she can stand or move without bumping into him.

She quickly busies herself by returning to packing up her suitcase. She tries to match his casual tone. “Did you come straight here from Iowa?  
  


He hesitates and when he answers, he sounds almost defensive. “Yeah. I mean, I stayed overnight in a motel in Cleveland yesterday. The snow only started once I crossed the border into New York.”

She makes a “hmm” noise, but the warm feeling spreads through her again. Once he crossed into New York, he could have turned and headed north for Riverdale. But he didn’t. He kept going. For her. That has to mean something.

“I just got off the phone with my mother,” she says. “You wouldn’t believe the guilt trip she laid on me when I said I would have to delay my trip a few days.”

“Huh. A classic Alice Smith guilt trip,” says Jughead. “I’m sorry I missed it.”

“You coming to my rescue will make her happy.”

“I didn’t come here for Alice.”

His words send a spark down the back of her neck and she almost shivers. She tosses one more sweater into the suitcase and then hurriedly zips it up.

Before she can grab her suitcase off the bed, Jughead appears by her side. “Here, let me,” he says.

He is close enough that she can smell the faint whiff of his after-shave from that morning. She cuts her eyes over to him, heart fluttering to find him looking down at her with a smile curling at the corner of his mouth.

“Okay,” she says hoarsely.

He picks up her suitcase while she grabs her phone and purse. She briefly considers texting her mom to let her know she’s on the way, but then decides she does not want to answer any complicated questions about _how_ she is coming home. Better to let it be a surprise.

She leaves the room first and then locks up behind her. In the distance, she can hear the frat boys chiming their hand bells and knocking loudly on doors. She shakes her head and then follows Jughead down the hall.

Wind slams into her as soon as they are outdoors and she staggers to follow behind him, snow and ice pelting against the soft flesh of her face. She is out of breath and panting by the time they reach his vehicle, a red Jeep that sits high on the road. Jughead packs her suitcase into the trunk while she scrambles to take a seat in the passenger seat, shaking snow out of her hair and wiping at her eyes.

Jughead climbs in next to her. He hurriedly turns on the defroster. Warm heat blasts against Betty’s face as the windshield wipers slide back and forth. Outside the jeep, the wind whistles as snow swirls thickly in the air.

“Here we go,” says Jughead as he puts the vehicle into drive.

* * *

They drive slowly. The roadways are sparse, and the normally two-lane highway is restricted to one lane. Jughead carefully follows the tire marks left behind in the road from the cars in front of them. Even in the jeep, wind buffets their car back and forth on the road.

Conversation is muted and Betty finds herself swallowing back a barrage of questions she is burning to ask him. How did he like his first few months of school? Did he make his way onto the editing board of the school newspaper like she did? What is it like being around others who are as passionate about writing as he is?

And then there are the other questions she wants to ask him. The questions she can scarcely admit to herself. Is he seeing anyone? Does he think about her? Does he miss her?

But his hands are gripping the steering wheel and he is hunched forward as they inch along the road. The last thing she wants is to distract him. She forces herself to sit quietly in the passenger seat. She tells herself there will be time for conversation later—after all, they are headed to the same place aren’t they?

She is startled from her musings by Jughead’s voice. “The temperature is dropping,” he says. “Maybe we should—”

The words barely leave his month when the vehicle starts skidding underneath them. Jughead swears and yanks the steering wheel in the direction of their skid. The car jerks as he pumps the brakes, but it is too late. The Jeep spins out of control, headed over the shoulder of the highway.

“HOLD ON!” Jughead yells.

Betty grabs for the handle over the door and holds on tightly. They spin over the shoulder of the highway and then down the side of the road, moving heavily through snow until they come to a sudden stop. Her body whips forward, but the shoulder strap from her seatbelt keeps her firmly in place.

She breathes in and out heavily as Jughead shouts: “Are you okay? Betty?”

“Yeah,” she says. She releases the door handle and drops her hand. Her heart pounds frantically and her fingers are sore from their tight grip on the handle. But nothing else is hurt. “I’m fine,” she continues. “You?”

“I’m fine, yeah,” he says. He grips the steering wheel tightly. The engine of the Jeep is still rumbling. “We must have hit some black ice. I didn’t see anything.”

“Can you reverse? Get us out of here?”

Jughead puts the car into reverse and tries to back up, but the wheels spin underneath them with no traction. He puts the car into four-wheel drive and tries to push forward, but it is no good. They must be stuck in several feet of snow. They are not going anywhere without a tow.

Jughead gives up after a few minutes. He puts the vehicle into park and then leans back against the headrest.

“Betty, I’m sorry. If anything had happened to you, it would be my fault.”

“We’re okay,” she says. “We’re both okay. That’s all that matters.”

“No,” he says. “This was selfish.”

“Selfish?”

“I knew how bad the weather was. I knew it wasn’t safe. But I wanted to see you.”

Her stomach flutters at his words. She shifts in her seat until she faces him. “Jug,” she whispers. His hand is still on the gear shift and she places a mittened hand over his. “I’m glad that you did. The worst part of all this was thinking that I would miss a chance to see you. So don’t be sorry.”

He glances down at her mittened hand, and then places his other hand over hers so her mittened hand is caught between his two bare hands.

“We need to call for a tow.”

She nods. “It could be hours.”

“Or longer in this weather,” Jughead says. “We can’t stay here. I saw a sign for an inn about half a mile down the road. We can make our way there and then call for a tow. At least we can wait somewhere warm.”

“Okay.”

Plan made, they both gear up to go out into the storm. Betty zips her coat up to her chin and pulls her hood over her head. Even buttoned up, she is unprepared for the wind and snow that slam into her when she opens the door. She staggers out of the Jeep and to her feet, the snow coming up almost to her thighs.

They grab their suitcases from the trunk and then fight their way through the snow and back to the highway. They push forward along the shoulder of the highway, suitcases in hand. Betty glances behind her after a few minutes. She can just barely see the Jeep where it went off the road, but a few moments later, it seems to disappear in a swirl of white snow.

The walk is not cold, but it is hard work. The road is slippery, visibility is poor, and they struggle to push through the wind. Traffic is sparse, but she still tenses every time a car whizzes by them. She is panting and sweating heavily inside her winter coat by the time they finally make it to the inn.

The inn is two stories tall and sits back from a well plowed parking lot dotted with only a handful of cars. There is a brightly lit nativity scene glowing in front of the doorway. On the roof of the inn is a blow up Santa, complete with a blow-up sleigh and reindeer.

A sign swings in front of the door, cheerfully announcing that they have reached ‘The Inn of _Amour_.’ In cursive letters, the sign promises: _each room comes with its own theme for you and your loved one!_ Below the cursive letters, in block text, the sign clarifies: “COUPLES ONLY.”

Jughead blows out a breath. “Ah, yes. My dream hotel.”

Betty snickers. “Come on, Mr. Grinch,” she says. “It looks warm and dry and I’m starving.”

The inside of the inn is even more garish than the outside. The door opens to a small, cramped lobby with a loveseat pushed against one side. The walls are decorated with grey wallpaper punctuated with small, red hearts. And hanging behind the reception desk is a large silhouette of cupid with the word “ _amour”_ scrawled underneath it.

“Well, at least they are committed to the theme,” Jughead murmurs as they approach the reception desk.

A woman of about 20-years-old looks up at them with a strained smile. She has dyed black hair and a winter hat pulled down almost to her eyes. The gold-plated nametag on her chest states that her name is Brandi.

“Can I help you?” she says in a bored voice.

Next to Betty, Jughead has gone silent, which she interprets as a sign that he expects her to be responsible for this social interaction.

“Er, yes,” she says. “Our car went off the road about a half-mile back.”

The woman stares at Betty with unblinking eyes. Then she pops a stick of gum in her mouth, chews a few times, and then says, “Okay.”

“We’ll call for a tow, but we were hoping for a place to stay until then.”

The woman smacks the gum loudly, blows a bubble, and then says, “Rooms are $150.00 per night plus tax.” She taps a few keys on the computer in front of her, squints at the screen, and then says, “We got two rooms left tonight. You can have the Neptune and Venus under the sea experience or the Romeo and Juliet suite.”

Betty glances over at Jughead but he is suddenly and determinedly involved in looking at something on his phone.

She sighs. “Maybe we could each take a room?”

The woman’s tone does not change. “We host couples only.”

Right. The sign outside did say that. As a marketing strategy, Betty finds it strange that any hotel would turn away paying customers—especially customers willing to spring for _two_ rooms rather than just the one. But she does not have the energy to argue the point, and she suspects that Brandi has given little thought to the Amour’s marketing plan.

“The Romeo and Juliet suite,” she says reluctantly. And then adds, “Please.”

While she completes the payment details, Jughead disappears outdoors to call for a tow truck. When he comes back, his face is drawn. He explains that the demand for tows is overwhelming—it could be at least 24 hours before someone can get their jeep out.

Brandi pops a bubble. “You might need to book a second night.” Then she points overhead and says, “Mistletoe.”

Betty looks up. Sure enough, a sprig of mistletoe is taped to the ceiling. Brandi shifts forward in her chair and props her chin up on her hand as she watches them expectantly.

Jughead starts backing away. “We’re not… the thing is…”

“PDA isn’t really our style,” Betty offers.

Brandi smacks her gum and then raises her eyebrows. “It’s a Christmas tradition.”

Betty huffs out a sigh. “Fine,” she hisses. She turns to Jughead who is watching her with wide eyes. She grabs his arm and then leans forward to press her lips to his cheek. His cheek is cold and wet from the snow, and he draws in a sharp breath at the touch of her lips. When she pulls away, he watches her with a dazed expression.

Before Brandi can say anything else, she seizes Jughead’s elbow and drags him away. She tosses a quick “ _thank you_ ” over her shoulder.

They tramp up to the second floor and open the door to the ‘Romeo and Juliet’ room. The air in the room is hot and stuffy. She looks around the room with wide eyes. It is decorated to resemble what a room would look like in medieval times—or someone’s 21st century idea of medieval times.

The walls are decorated with plastic interlocking stones as if to give the impression that they are staying in an old castle rather than a highway inn. The bed is encased under a large canopy with purple drapes and a purple bedspread with tiny, gold fleur-de-lis etchings in the fabric. There is a fake, electric fireplace next to a door that Betty assumes leads to the bathroom. The curtains covering the room’s lone window match the purple bedspread with the same fleur-de-lis markings.

The room also contains a chest of drawers with a TV sitting on top. The modern décor stands in sharp contrast to the overall theme of the room.

She drops her suitcase and then looks over at Jughead. “Wow,” she says.

He turns in a circle, taking in the gaudy decorations like he can scarcely believe what he is seeing. “I’m going to have nightmares tonight.”

Betty shrugs out of her winter coat and realizes that her clothes are soaked through from snow and sweat. Despite the oppressive heat in the room, she finds herself shivering as she strips down to her pants and a sweater.

Jughead’s eyes are concerned as he studies her. “Go take a warm shower,” he says. “I’ll see what I can do about getting us some food.”

Betty gratefully follows his advice. She opens the door next to the fireplace, relieved when it reveals a normal, modern looking bathroom. No hole in the ground to emulate a medieval toilet. She pulls her phone out of the pocket and again considers whether she should call her mother. She decides against it. There is something… almost private about what she and Jughead are doing. She does not want anyone else to know where they are, or that they are together—not until she has a chance herself to figure out what it all means

She takes a long, hot shower and then wraps herself in a bathrobe. When she comes out, she finds Jughead lounging on the bed, flicking idly through channels on the TV.

She does not miss the way that his eyes flicker over to her, lingering appreciatively on her bare legs before sliding to where the sash of her robe is tied around her waist. His beanie is gone and his hair is damp and wet from snow.

She suddenly feels daring and climbs onto the bed next to him, stretching out her legs in front of her and pulling the sash of her robe tightly across her waist. She is aware that the robe gapes open along her chest. Her cheeks warm as she feels Jughead’s gaze linger on the swell of her breasts.

He clears his throat a few times, and then says. “I ordered room service.”

His words are hoarse like it is a great effort to concentrate. She bites back a smirk and keeps her voice light. “Oh? And what are we getting? Cheeseburgers with a side of love sonnet?”

“Close,” he says. He looks around their ornately decorated room and then shakes his head. “Can you believe that we are snowed in on Christmas Eve in the love hotel?”

“The inn of _amour_ ,” Betty corrects. She leans her weight on her elbow so she can face him. “Besides, we’re old hats at being snowed in together. At least this time we don’t have to worry about being murdered by your prep school classmates.”

They share a quiet smile. But then the quiet lasts a little _too_ long—the silence shifts to just the wrong side of ‘uncomfortable.’

Jughead shakes himself and, with forced cheer says, “I better shower. Will you do me the great honour of waiting for our room service?”

“I doth think I can manage that,” Betty says.

Betty reaches for the television remote once Jughead is gone and a moment later, she hears the shower turn on in the bathroom. She idly flips through 24 hour news channels, all dominated by news of the storm. Reporters stand on blustery city streets, holding on to their hats, their voices choppy as they say: “ _please, folks, we’re begging you, whatever your plans are, put them on hold. Cancel your parties, your gatherings. You can wait a few days. It’s not worth the risk out there right now.”_

A knock on the door announces the arrival of their room service. She hops off the bed, checks to make sure that her bathrobe is well-fastened and opens the door to a member of the wait staff carrying two trays. She takes the trays back in the room, amused to find that Jughead has ordered two grilled cheese sandwiches and fries.

As if summoned by the smell of food, the bathroom door opens and Jughead emerges in a cloud of steam. Like her, he is clad only in a white bathrobe. His gaze is playful when he meets hers as if he has accepted a challenge that she has issued.

“Dinner!” he says nonchalantly. He grabs his sandwich and fries and then jumps back on the bed, stretching out in his robe and balancing his plate of food on his lap. He pats the space next to him. “Come join me.”

She hesitates. Is this a bad idea? She and Jughead—alone in the hotel of “love”—both of them naked under their robes, practically _daring_ the other to make a move. But she cannot ignore the pull she feels towards him, the urge to get closer, _be_ closer—to keep teasing him until some of his hard-earned control snaps (or hers snaps, whichever is first).

She takes the seat next to him and bites into her sandwich, only realizing how hungry she is when her stomach rumbles with pleasure. The grilled cheese is made between two slices of white bread with Kraft singles. Food that Alice Smith never allowed Betty to heat while she was under her mother’s roof.

It is, frankly, the best grilled cheese Betty has ever had in her life and she inhales it within minutes.

She is munching on a fry when Jughead speaks again. In a voice that is _definitely_ not casual, he says, “So… are you seeing anyone?”

“Smooth, Jug,” she says. “Very suave.”

He shrugs, chews, and then swallows. “I can assure you, my motives are pure.”

“Too bad,” Betty murmurs, and enjoys the way his eyes widen slightly before he hurriedly shoves a fry into his mouth. She almost laughs, and then says, “No, I’m not seeing anyone. It didn’t feel right. Now when I wasn’t sure if we…” she stops herself and then clears her throat. “What about you? Are you seeing anyone?”

He makes a noise that seems to be somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “Betty, I can promise you, there is no girl in this world who would even pretend to be cool with me driving halfway across the country in a record-breaking blizzard to drive another woman home for Christmas.”

She pops a fry in her mouth to hide her smile. “So there isn’t anyone else?” she says.

“There is definitely no one else,” he confirms. More seriously, he says, “The truth is, I haven’t even thought about anyone else. There’s just… you.”

Betty’s face warms. Suddenly, she is no longer hungry. She pushes her fries away. “I know the feeling,” she whispers. “Jug, we talked about this. We didn’t want to limit ourselves. We said the distance was too far. That summers and Christmases and holidays weren’t going to be enough.”

“I know,” he says. He pushes his own plate of fries off to the side. “And none of that has changed. Except…”

“What?”

“I desperately miss you, Betty Cooper.”

Her stomach tightens and drops in the most pleasant way—she feels like she is reaching the top of a rollercoaster and about to plunge down the other side.

“I miss you too.” She bites her lip. “But these last few months? Deciding to take a break from each other? Jug, I can’t go through that again. I finally feel like things are going _well_ for me at Yale. My grades are good and I broke into the student paper—I might even get the chance to do some editing next semester. If this ends with you and I going our separate ways again, it would break my heart.”

His eyes are sad as he studies her face. “I’m sorry,” he says. “This is my fault. I didn’t want to hold you back.”

“It’s okay,” she says. “It made sense. It’s what we wanted.”

“Was it?”

His words hang heavily in the air between them. She has to admit, it was the _sensible_ decision. The _adult_ decision. Focus on new experiences and new people and moving forward and, hey, if they were meant to be, they would be meant to be, they would eventually find their way back to each other.

Yes, it had been the sensible decision—except for the part where she felt like she cut out a part of her, and left it behind in Riverdale.

“Not really,” she finally answers. “I meant what I said, Jug, things are going really well. But a part of me feels like what I have accomplished, all that I’ve done… it’s like it’s not real if you’re not there with me.”

“I know the feeling,” he murmurs. He reaches for the sash of her robe and rests his hands against it, eyes focused on her face. “Can I?” he whispers.

“Yeah,” she whispers back.

He slowly unties the sash and then draws her robe apart. He shifts over on to his knees, warm hands tracing along the skin of her stomach and hips. His touch feels _good_ and she closes her eyes, a contented sigh dropping from her lips. A moment later, his lips touch against her abdomen, just above her belly-button, feather light. She shivers, and murmurs his name, “ _Jug_.”

He smiles against her skin. Then he kisses his way up her stomach, his lips lingering in the curve between her breasts before he presses a slow and almost reverent kiss to her collarbone and the curve of her neck. She shudders with pleasure and reaches for him. Her hands slide underneath his own robe and curve around his back, her hands caressing down his shoulder blades and dipping into the curve of his spine.

He sighs against her neck and then, finally, his lips find hers. She kisses him eagerly, teeth bumping against his, tongue slipping into his mouth. He tastes salty from the French Fries, and something else, something she associates with _Jughead_ , with warmth and safety.

When he pulls away, his face is flushed, his chest rising and falling with his panting breaths. He hurriedly sheds his bathrobe and tosses it away before his lips find hers again. She arches into him, skin against skin, a low moan falling from her mouth.

“Is this okay?” he murmurs between kisses.

“Yeah,” she whispers. “Don’t stop.”

With each kiss, she feels a growing ache of need and desire growing inside of her. The bond tying them together seems to grow and tighten. This is right. This is how it should be.

* * *

The next morning dawns bright and clear. Betty wakes up to sun on her face, and Jughead spooned up behind her. His arm is wrapped tightly around her waist and his face is nestled against the crook of her shoulder. His breath is warm against the back of her neck.

She stretches out and curls up against him, enjoying the way he responds by curving his body around hers. 

They spent the night talking and making love, catching up on all the things they missed in each other’s life over the last few months. Jughead told her about how he forced himself to participate in frosh week—and how to his surprise, he did not hate every moment of it. He even made a friend with a member of the Iowa University football team. His name is Jamie and he has shaggy light brown hair and comes from a small town and, yes, he reminds Jughead of Archie. Jamie drags Jughead to parties and trivia nights and football matches. Thanks to Jamie, Jughead has lived a typical first-year, college experience.

“ _Besides, you know, the fact that I miss you so much it’s like I cut off a limb_ ,” he was quick to add.

Like her, Jughead also signed up for the student newspaper. She quickly gathered that he and his editor do not exactly get along. He has been doing an investigation into the university’s endowment fund, and the school has been pushing back against the paper for the investigation—which, of course, has done nothing but encourage Jughead forward.

For her part, she told him about the three girls on her floor—Monica, Judith, and Carol—how they all met the first week and have been inseparable since. Like his Jamie, they have dragged Betty to dorm parties and meetups. They even share some of the same classes and have formed an informal study group together.

It was all going so well, she told him. All except….

_This_ , she thinks as Jughead nuzzles the back of her neck.

She closes her eyes, basking in the feel of him spooned up behind her and the morning sun on her face. She feels like she could stay in this cocoon of warmth forever.

The thought has barely formed when Jughead’s phone buzzes. He grunts something against her neck and then gropes around for his phone before he sits up in bed to read the message. She feels strangely empty to lose contact with him. She could easily spend the whole day in bed, doing nothing but cuddling and talking and having sex.

“It’s the tow company,” he says. His voice is regretful. “We should get dressed.”

* * *

The storm has left behind more snow than Betty has ever seen in her life. Their rented jeep is buried up to the windows in snow. With the sun out, all she can see around her is miles of white, glistening land.

She takes Jughead’s hand as the tow truck goes to work and holds his gloved hand in her mittened hand.

“We could stay one more night,” she suggests. “The inn isn’t _that_ bad.”

“It has started to grow on me,” Jughead says. He squeezes her hand. “What about your family?”

“Of course I want to see them. And Archie and Veronica. But…” her pulse quickens. “Would it be so bad to wait one more day?”

The jeep groans as the tow truck hooks onto its front and starts to pull it from its snowed in cocoon.

Jughead turns from the jeep and meets Betty’s gaze. He trails a gloved finger down her cheek. “Betty, you know that I want nothing more than to spend another day with just you. Hell, I could spend forever in that room with you.”

Her pulse quickens. She wets her lips. “Me, too,” she admits. And then, “Jug, what do we do about… after?”

He shrugs. “We’ll make it work. We have spring break and summer holidays. Videoconferencing.” Then he waggles his eyebrows. “Plus sexting. I’ve always wanted an excuse to sext you.”

She rolls her eyes but her voice is serious when she says, “You don’t think it will be too hard?”

“If there is anything I’ve learned the last few months, it is that being without you is the hard part. The distance will be a challenge, but we can make anything work.”

“Okay,” Betty whispers. She presses her cheek against his and then turns to watch the tow truck drag their shuddering jeep from the snow drift. “I love you, Jughead Jones.”

“I love you, too,” Jughead says. His voice is hoarse like he has been keeping the words inside of him for too long and it is a relief to be able to save them aloud. He presses a kiss to her temple. “Merry Christmas, Betty Cooper.”


End file.
